Chapter 6 - Underworld

The Temple was asleep. Edric moved silently through the dimly lit corridors, his boots making soft thumps on the floor, each step accompanied by a quiet echo. He wore his sleeveless navy blue tunic from Tarnos—still dirty and torn in a few places. It seemed better suited for blending in than a freshly ironed, impeccable garb. He also loosened his utility belt to better mimic the casual attire of Coruscant's civilians outside the sanctuary. A backpack hung from his shoulders, packed with only essentials: a few changes of clothes, spare credits, energy bars, a flask, his master's gift holocron and his own lightsaber hidden carefully at the bottom.

The grand halls of the Temple, usually filled with the murmur of conversations and the shuffle of Jedi on their various tasks, were now empty. Statues of Jedi Masters from ages past stood sentinel, their stone gazes seeming to follow Edric as he walked. He had always had a sense of peace here, but tonight, it was different. It seemed like the old masters judged him. It was no longer the home that welcomed him.

He finally reached his destination. The medbay's doors slid open and he walked past the sick beds and made his way to the bacta tanks. In the only active one, Master Kael Asher looked like he had been asleep all his life. Edric approached the tank and put a hand on the glass. The coldness of the surface bit into his palm. Still nothing, he noted as the Force remained silent when he reached out.

"Master, I wanted to say goodbye," he whispered, his voice trembling slightly. "The Order... it's not what I thought it was. It's not what you taught me it should be."

Edric took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I'm going to find my own path, Master. I might not become a Jedi Knight as you intended. But I promise I'll make you proud, somehow. And maybe one day, I'll come back and tell you all about it. May the Force be with you. Always."

He stepped back, letting his hand fall to his side. The room seemed to grow colder, and a shiver ran up his spine. Tears welled up in his eyes. He took out his lightsaber and activated it. He cut his padawan braid off with a small move and left it on a nearby console. With a final, lingering look at his master, Edric turned and walked away, the machinery beeping away behind him.

Only a short while later, Edric approached the Temple's main exit, the grand portal looming ahead like a gateway to a new world. The bustling noises of the city grew louder with each step, the polluted cool night air seeping in with a breeze tickling his skin, hinting at the vast cityscape beyond.

He paused, feeling an inexplicable sense of being watched. Slowly, he glanced over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the shadows and the dimly lit corridor behind him. In the distance, silhouetted against the faint glow of the corridor lights, stood a small figure. Edric squinted, his heart skipping a beat as he recognized the unmistakable form of Master Yoda. The ancient Jedi Master stood silently, his wise eyes barely visible in the darkness, yet Edric felt his piercing gaze.

For a moment, they simply looked at each other, the air thick with unspoken words. Edric couldn't discern Yoda's expression from this distance, but the presence alone was enough. It was as if the Force itself had manifested in the form of the old Master to see him off.

Whatever Yoda might have wanted, it was too late. Edric had made up his mind, even if he himself was conflicted about it. He dipped his head slightly, a gesture of respect, before turning his back on the Grand Master and, with it, the Jedi Order as a whole.

The farther Edric got from the Jedi Temple, the more unshackled he felt, like a bird released from a cage. I'm no longer a Jedi, he kept repeating in his head, barely believing it. Initially, the thought was as terrifying as standing on the edge of a precipice, but amidst the bustling streets, there was a strange warmth blooming in his chest. For the first time in a long while, he was excited for what was ahead of him.

The stark emptiness of the Temple was replaced with a vibrant sea of people, so dense he could barely avoid brushing against them or bumping into them. The city pulsed with life, its ceaseless energy coursing through him like a refreshing breeze, invigorating his spirit. Neon lights painted the walkways in all colors of the spectrum, adverts trying to sell their products and services to those rushing through.

While he had walked Coruscant's streets before, it was usually during missions with a clear destination in mind. Like the people around him, he would often ignore his surroundings, focused solely on reaching his goal. This time, however, he had the freedom to absorb everything. He didn't have a set destination, but followed his instinct—or more likely, the Force.

His ears were bombarded with a cacophony of alien languages and chatter, his eyes dazzled by artificial lights flashing from all directions, and his nose tingled with the acrid smell of smog mingled with the enticing aromas of street food from various vendors. It was a sensory overload.

After a long walk, Edric moved to the sidelines of the street to catch his breath and take it all in. He noticed the signage overhead announcing his arrival at one of the closest public transport hubs to the Jedi Temple. Scratching his chin, he decided to check out the departures and see if any piqued his interest.

A strange tingling sensation in the back of his head felt like a guiding hand, assuring him he was heading in the right direction. He knew the transition to a new life would not be easy; he had no idea where he would sleep, what he would eat, or what he would even do. But the confines of the Temple felt more like a prison, the endless cycles of training and meditation without a proper assignment pushing him toward madness. He wondered if the Council was testing him on purpose and feared he had failed. Yet Edric understood that while Jedi had a duty, they should also feel a certain level of satisfaction with their lives. And that was a hole he couldn't fill there anymore, especially with his master floating in that bacta tank. Force-knows when he would even wake up—if he ever did. No, moving on was the right choice.

A large viewscreen had a collection of departing transports to almost all major hubs on Coruscant. Edric scanned the list from top to bottom, slowly stopping on a couple that were due to launch in fifteen minutes. At one particular entry, he felt a nudge. It was a transport due to Level 1991. The Underworld, he realized. Technically, he originated from there, or at least according to that recording of Master Asher, he was brought to the Temple from the lower levels of the planet. As a Jedi, he had never ventured that far down or that close to the planet's natural surface, but, like other Padawans, he had read about them. With the Clone Wars, many refugees moved down there, while crime syndicates and other petty criminals ran rampant. It could be just the challenge he needed—a place where he could make a difference, however small it might be.

He jogged over to a ticket booth and spent more money on it than he anticipated. I should have packed more credits, he noted, wincing as he watched his funds dwindle just for a pass. Edric then searched for the designated platform of the shuttle and slowly approached the queue boarding the vehicle. Being the last in line didn't bother him. As he waited, he took in his fellow travelers.

A weary procession shuffled before him, a mix of aliens and humans alike. Their faces told stories of hardship—eyes sunken with fatigue, shoulders drooping under the weight of unseen burdens. Some had the hardened look of those who had lived their lives on the fringes of society, their expressions guarded and wary, like stray animals ready to bolt at the first sign of danger. Others wore the haggard appearance of refugees, each step heavy with exhaustion, as if the ground itself sought to pull them back into despair. And then there were some with a more sinister air around them, eyes darting about as if perpetually on guard. They all seemed to have unspoken tales of survival and loss. Edric couldn't help but feel a strange kinship with them, sensing that he, too, was embarking on a journey into the unknown.

When he finally boarded, the shuttle was already packed. There were no seats left, and a handful of humanoids stood gripping the overhead handles. Edric swung his backpack off one shoulder, shifting it in front of him to make more space for others, and then reached for a handle himself.

He could feel eyes on him and glanced down to see a small Zabrak boy staring up at him from the seat below his right arm. Edric offered a weak, but reassuring smile, but the boy simply frowned and turned back to his mother. Would he be that scary? He wasn't particularly easy on the eyes with his size, yet it still stung that he could incite fear in others.

The shuttle shuddered as the engines roared to life, lifting it from the platform. Edric widened his stance to keep his balance, feeling his boots bump against someone else's.

"Sorry," he murmured, pulling back his foot.

"Watch what you're doing, you beast," a Duros snarled, baring crooked teeth at the ex-Padawan. Edric cleared his throat and turned to look out the window instead.

They were beginning their descent through one of the Underworld portals—massive ventilation shafts that doubled as passageways to the lower levels. As the shuttle's engines eased and gravity took over, Edric felt his ears pop with the change in pressure every few hundred meters. He kept swallowing to alleviate the discomfort, but eventually gave up, resigning himself to the sensation. Outside, the already dim night grew darker, the artificial lights above becoming faint pinpricks in the vast, shadowy expanse below. Edric watched as they left level after level, catching only the blur of neons and other vehicles using the portal.

By the time the shuttle jerked to a halt, Edric had nearly fallen asleep standing. He looked up to see they had reached Level 1991. The doors slid open with a hiss, releasing a wave of stale air. Passengers rushed off, jostling and tripping over each other in their haste. The civilized patience and orderly queues of the upper levels were long gone.

Edric stepped off the transport, then exited to the streets. His boots landed on the grimy pavement with soft thuds. He took a moment to orient himself, the sights and sounds of this new world assaulting his senses. His eyes flitted from one scene to another, each glimpse offering a new story. Refugees huddled in corners, their eyes hollow with despair. Vendors shouted from their stalls, trying to hawk their wares to the passing crowd. The occasional flash of a weapon or a furtive exchange hinted at the darker undercurrents that flowed through this part of the city. Rusted metal structures loomed overhead, casting long, jagged shadows that seemed to writhe with unseen life.

Nearby, a sign buzzed and flickered, advertising a cantina with promises of cheap drinks and dubious company. Only every second letter was even readable of its original name. Next to it, a group of children played a game with a battered ball, their laughter a brief, bright spark in the gloom. The street was a river of beings, flowing through the labyrinthine passages of the underworld. As he moved deeper into the crowd, he felt like a lone star plunging into the depths of an uncharted galaxy, both daunted and exhilarated by the endless possibilities before him.

Ahead, two figures stood in heated conversation, one with a grotesque mask and the other with a mohawk and a scar that ran down his cheek. Their voices were low, but the tension was obvious. Edric kept his distance, slipping into the shadows of a nearby alley. A droid with a dome-shaped head rolled past, beeping softly as it went about its business. He watched it disappear around a corner, then turned his attention back to the street.

As he went deeper, he noticed voices not too far away. One was high-pitched and sounded nervous. The other two were more hostile, with a strange emphasis on their esses. He moved closer and saw, under the light of a street lamp, two Trandoshans standing over a Bith who was shielding his domed, bald head with his hands.

"This wasss the lassst time you ssstole from usss, Zeek," one of the reptilian aliens hissed. Edric slowed his steps, listening to the commotion.

"Stars! You know I wouldn't steal from you, Essk. That Rodian was just trying to get some credits off you with those fake stories," the Bith—apparently called Zeek—pleaded. The other Trandoshan stepped closer and kicked him in the gut. Edric's hands clenched into fists. He had barely arrived in the Underworld, and already trouble had found him. Or perhaps he had found it—it didn't really matter. He couldn't just stand by. He decided to step into the light.

"That's enough," he said, a bit shocked at the commanding tone of his own voice. The two bullies turned around. Edric noted they were unarmed, which was fortunate for both himself and the Bith.

"Go away, human, thisss is not your businesss," one of them snarled.

"No, no, don't go! Thank you, my friend. These gentlemen are mistaken. I did nothing wrong. They think I encroached on their territory, but that's simply not true," Zeek said, his voice even higher pitched than before.

"Leave him alone," Edric repeated. His Jedi training told him to try and talk them out of it, but instead he dropped his backpack and raised his fists. It was time to listen to his instincts.

The two reptiles exchanged a glance and, without a word, leapt at Edric. He was ready. Sidestepping a punch, he drove his elbow into the first Trandoshan's stomach. The second tried to grab him, but Edric ducked and delivered a right uppercut, connecting solidly with the other's chin. He could swear he heard bones crack.

Both recovered quickly and moved in unison at Edric. With a few quick steps, he managed to get out of their way, watching as the bullies collided and hit each other.

"What are you doing? Hit him, not me, you idiot!" the one called Essk hissed. Edric couldn't stop himself from flashing a grin.

"What's the matter? I'm right here," he taunted them, arms spread.

The aliens attacked again, but Edric was ready. He blocked a punch and delivered another swift jab to Essk's jaw, followed by a powerful hook to the other Trandoshan's temple. Both staggered, their movements sluggish and disoriented.

Essk, rubbing his aching jaw, exchanged a wary glance with his companion. "Thisss isn't worth it," he growled "We are not done, Zeek. Watch yourssself." With a final hiss, they turned and fled, disappearing into the eternal darkness of the Underworld.

Edric exhaled deeply, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, making his whole body burn. While a true Jedi would have tried a more diplomatic approach, Edric could see these were bullies who rarely understood mere words. And he wasn't a Jedi anymore. What surprised him though was that he actually enjoyed the fight and the physicality of it.

He picked up his backpack and turned to Zeek, who was shakily getting to his feet and looking Edric up and down.

"Are you alright?" Edric asked, extending a hand to help him up.

Zeek nodded, a tired smile on his lips. "Thanks to you, yes, big guy. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't stepped in, my friend."

Edric smiled faintly. "Just try to stay out of trouble next time?"

Zeek chuckled weakly. "You're new down here, aren't you? I'm Zeek Meen. Pleasure to meet you, my friend." The Bith extended a hand, and Edric shook it firmly.

"Edric Kane. Is it that obvious?" he asked.

"Most people would have let them beat me up. Maybe even watched for their own entertainment. They should listen to my band play instead, but I guess that would be too boring," Zeek explained, his thoughts drifting before he shrugged.

"So," he began again, his high-pitched voice startling Edric slightly. "Do you have a place to stay?"

"Not really, I just arrived here. And not really sure where I should go," Edric admitted, scratching the back of his head.

"I can help with that. There's a cantina nearby," Zeek explained, starting to move down the alley in the opposite direction from where the Trandoshans had fled. "The owner owes me a few favors. I'll put in a good word for you."

Edric and Zeek made their way to the cantina known as The Rusty Blaster. Its lights flickered erratically, the "y" and the "er" in the logo occasionally blinking in and out, casting a ghostly light over the blaster graphic. The sign buzzed softly, like a tired insect emphasizing the neglect and decay that permeated the Underworld. Edric wasn't sure it was a good idea to trust Zeek, but the Force wasn't protesting either, so he let the events play out. He still paid attention to any signs of trouble, and was conscious Zeek could be leading him into a trap too.

They stepped inside, and Edric was immediately hit by a wave of noise and smells. The scent of stale alcohol and fried food, mingling with the sharp tang of sweat and unwashed bodies of all species made Edric grimace. Faint lights cast long shadows across the room, where patrons huddled over drinks or engaged in low, murmured conversations around their tables and booths.

Zeek led the way to the bar and quickly waved to catch the attention of the violet-skinned Twi'lek bartender. "Can you call Marnok for me?" Zeek asked, his voice a rapid stream of words.

A few moments later, the kitchen door swung open, and out lumbered Marnok, a giant Dowutin with a big belly that strained against his stained apron. His presence seemed to fill the room, and his eyes narrowed as he saw Zeek. A frown carved deep lines into his leathery face.

"What do you want now, Zeek?" Marnok grumbled, his voice like grinding stones.

Zeek began to speak even faster, words tumbling over each other in his haste to explain. "Marnok Dreth, this is Edric Kane. He's new around town. But he saved me from some Trandoshans tonight, and I want to repay him. Can you let him stay in one of the rooms upstairs? Just for a while?"

Marnok's eyes shifted to Edric, measuring him up and down with the frown still on his face. "You saved Zeek, huh?" he asked, his tone skeptical. "Can you work? I don't do freebies down here, so you'll have to pay rent."

Edric nodded. "Of course, whatever you need me to do," he replied, his voice steady and he even managed to try a faint smile. He had no clue about running a cantina, but he considered himself a quick learner. It couldn't be that hard. Right?

Marnok grunted, the sound of a deep rumble from his chest, and tossed Edric a keycard. "Follow me," he said, turning on his heel and lumbering back toward the stairs.

Edric glanced at Zeek, who gave him an encouraging thumbs up.

"If you have settled in, come back downstairs, I'll buy you a drink," Zeek said.

Edric nodded and then followed Marnok who led him up a too narrow staircase that creaked under their combined weight. The stairs wound upward and soon they reached the top. Marnok pointed at a rusty door at the end of the hallway. Edric took out the keycard from his pocket and swiped it at the terminal. Nothing happened.

Marnok grunted and punched the wall next to it. A green light flickered on the terminal and the door hissed open.

"Here you go," Marnok said, stepping aside to let Edric enter. "It ain't much, but it's better than the streets."

Edric stepped into the small room. The window was so dirty it barely let any of the street lights through. A thin mattress lay on a rickety bed frame that groaned in protest as Edric dropped his backpack onto it. He pressed down on the bed with his hand, feeling the springs creak beneath the worn fabric.

"Are you sure this can hold my weight?" he asked Marnok. The Dowutin shrugged.

"No idea," Marnok said, then pointed to a small door in the corner. "Refresher unit's in there. Don't use too much water; it ain't free," he grumbled.

Before Edric could respond, a loud yell echoed from downstairs. "Marnok! Someone's missing their order!"

The Dowutin rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. "Duty calls," he muttered. "Get yourself settled in. We'll talk tomorrow about work." With that, he turned and lumbered back down the stairs, his heavy footsteps fading away.

Edric stood alone in the tiny room, taking a moment to reflect on the night's events. The room was mostly silent, but the faint hum of activity from downstairs—the murmur of voices, the clatter of kitchen tools—filtered through the floorboards, a constant reminder of the life teeming below. In a strange way, there was more vitality here than he had ever felt at the Temple.

A smile tugged at Edric's lips, refusing to fade. He wasn't entirely sure why the night's events filled him with such exhilaration. As a Padawan, he had always adhered strictly to the Jedi training and way of life, even when his heart yearned to break free from those constraints. But now, there were no rules to follow, no watchful eyes to scrutinize his every move. For the first time, he could savor life in a way he never had before. The freedom was intoxicating, like a long-awaited breath of fresh air after being submerged for too long.

The persistent voice in his head still whispered, sowing seeds of doubt about whether he was doing the right thing. Stepping away from being a Jedi seemed like the right choice, but the potential true costs were still hidden, like dangers lurking in the depths of an uncharted sea. He envisioned himself helping those in need in Level 1991, but the specifics danced just out of reach. His fingers brushed the smooth hilt of his lightsaber hidden within his backpack, a symbol of his past life that he couldn't quite let go of completely.

A loud grumble from his stomach pulled him out of his thoughts. He took a deep breath and made his way back downstairs. The noise of the cantina washed over him again as he re-entered the main room. Zeek was waiting at a table, a pair of ale already set out.

"You're finally back," Zeek said with a grin, sliding one of the drinks toward Edric. "How's the room?"

"It's... okay," Edric replied, taking a seat. "The bed might fall apart."

Zeek chuckled. "Welcome to the Underworld, my friend. We make do with what we have."

Edric sipped his drink, the taste unfamiliar but not unpleasant. Another thing he was trying for the first time in his life. "So, you mentioned you play music?"

"Yes," Zeek said, his dark eyes lighting up. "I've got a band, my friend. We play here sometimes, and at a few other joints around the sector. Keeps me busy and brings in a few credits."

Zeek leaned in closer, his black ball of eyes quickly glancing around the room, and gesturing to Edric to do the same. "On the side, I dabble in some smuggling too. Nothing big, just small jobs to help folks who need things that the authorities might not approve of. It pays well enough, and I've got my ears open for bigger opportunities."

Edric raised an eyebrow. "So, you did steal from those Trandoshans."

"Nooo, I didn't. I swear. But it's the Underworld, my friend, people tell lies about others," Zeek said rapidly, though the higher pitch in his voice told Edric he wasn't exactly at ease. The Force remained calm and while Edric could tell Bith was keeping something from him, he decided to let it go for now. Instead, he shook his head and took another sip of ale. As if trying to compensate, Zeek began speaking again.

"Listen, my friend. I couldn't help but notice that, well, you are a big dude. And you were very impressive back there handling those idiot Trandoshans. If you need credits—and I mean really good credits—brawling could be a way to get them. It's dangerous, but you're strong, my friend, and I'm sure you can handle yourself. What do you think? There's even a fight coming up that I can get you into."

Edric considered Zeek's words, the idea swirling in his mind like a vortex. He recalled the thrill of combat, the adrenaline that had surged through him. The promise of a steady income was tempting—it could get him his own place, large enough to accommodate him, and a way to prove himself outside the Jedi Order.

"I'll do it," Edric said finally, his voice resolute. "Sign me up for the fight."